An Ordinary Life -- Selah

Sometimes life feels mundane.

Ordinary.

Busy but not fulfilling. 

Bare.

Winter reminds me that new life is not always seen on the outside, 

but comes quietly from soaking in the nutrients hidden beneath.

The bare branch says,

Sink into it. 

Live in its simplicity. 

This is the gift of a contemplative life.

Humbled by the barrenness

only to discover hidden beneath 

gifts of grace

from the One 

who beckons the bud.

To learn more about this series, please visit SELAH.

A Dance in the Sand

A Dance in the Sand

The announcement at the door

I need to wear my tutu to the beach

I want to dance in the sand

I want to walk on my tiptoes

I want to dance 

She lifts up her arms 

She twirls to the rhythm of surf

She dances

Free

No inhibitions

She wants to dance

To feel the sand in her toes

To listen to the sound of the waves

She prances

She runs

She dances

I want to dance on the beach

I want to have no inhibitions

I want to dance with my girl

My Life Is Not My Own

I have joined others at The Gypsy Mama for Five Minute Fridays. Our assignment is to write for five minutes flat on the topic for the week and share our responses to the same prompt. 

The word for this prompt is ROAR. Here I go...

I am not afraid to roar....I know what it means to feel the roar of anger...The roar in loss...

But there is a roar that is not ear-piercing, but quiet and powerful. There is a roar that says, I am not afraid. There is a roar that says NO to injustice whatever the cost.

I wish I roared like the Freedom Riders in the 1960’s. I wish I roared like Martin Luther King, Jr. or  Rosa Parks. I am always profoundly moved by the courage of that era. I was born in that era. 

I’ve never roared like that.

Elizabeth was from Nigeria.  She was my bunkmate at a conference in Amsterdam in 2000. One night, we sat on her bunk as she told me her life story. She was a woman of faith. She was a pastor. She chose to follow Jesus at the risk of death. She was beaten for her faith. She was denied access to her children for long periods of time. She was shamed by her husband in her village. But she never turned from her faith. She helped to establish nine faith communities. Her husband, her persecutor, asked for her forgiveness on his death bed. Three of her sons became pastors.  

After she shared with me, I asked, “How did you do it, Elizabeth? How do you survive all the persecution?” She looked me in the eyes with compassion and said, “Oh, Kim, my life is not my own. I gave it all to Him. It’s not mine. It’s His.”

I wept.

I wept because I knew I hold on so tightly to what I think is mine. I wept because her eyes said how much she longed for me to know the joy of not fearing anything. Not even death.

I want to roar like that. I want to roar with those who have given it all.

A Train to Nowhere

I have joined others at The Gypsy Mama for Five Minute Fridays. Our assignment is to write for five minutes flat on the topic for the week and share our responses to the same prompt. 

The word for this prompt is OPEN. Here I go...

The first time I got on a train in Osaka, it was rush hour. I was standing near the door. It opened at the next stop and I saw a platform crowded with hundreds and hundreds of people. I thought, “They'll have to wait for the next train. This one is already packed.” Then I watched in amazement (horror?) as all of the people on the platform crammed into the open door. They just kept pushing in tighter and tighter.

The open door began to close and the “pushers” with their white gloves began to push in any arms and elbows sticking out so the doors could shut. The pushers blew their whistles. The doors shut. And then the train took off down the track. At the next station people disembarked and the process started all over again when the doors opened.

Sometimes I feel like I am back on that train. I feel like my culture is telling me that everyone needs to rush through the same open door. Everyone needs to squeeze onto the same train marked "living the American dream." And the voices of my culture are wearing white gloves pushing us all to get on. 

Maybe it’s time to get off the train to nowhere. Maybe it’s time to believe something different. Maybe it’s time to walk on the path less traveled.  Maybe it’s time to walk like He walked. 

A Sunset to Savor

What a gift to enjoy this evening with those I love. 

What a gift for the new year. 

What a moment to savor. 

The whole earth is filled with awe at your wonders; 

where morning dawns, where evening fades, 

you call forth songs of joy.

Psalm 65:8

Savor the New Year One Moment at a Time -- Selah

When I was a little girl, I loved to go to my grandma's house. She would let me roam her house creating imaginary worlds with the help of her high heels and costume jewelry. She loved to prepare me my favorite foods -- her homemade mac 'n cheese was amazing! And she always sang me to sleep with her lullabies long past the age when I thought I needed them. Most of all, she seemed to treasure the laughter, the hugs, and even the messes.

I had not thought about her home for years. My Mimi passed away over 20 years ago. But the other night, my family was driving back home after visiting relatives. As we came over the pass in the dark of night, we drove down the Conejo Grade into the valley sparkling with lights from all who lived in the many cities and towns below.

In the quiet car, I enjoyed the view of twinkling lights below and felt a familiar feeling of simple joy. I then remembered my Mimi's house. 

I was a little girl again nestled behind a chair in her living room and looking out the bay window as the sun set over San Francisco East Bay. I loved to sit and watch the sun paint the sky ablaze with color before it rested for the night. I would then sit quietly and wait for the sky to go dark and the cityscape to become a spectacular display of twinkling lights. Even as a young child I would sit still, not moving from my chosen spot, so as not miss a single drop of beauty.

I would linger there until I felt it was time to leave. I never seemed to rush or hurry up the moment. I sat poised in the quiet and enjoyed it completely.

Somewhere along the way, I learned to stop savoring the moment and all its beauty. I really don't know when or why. But the childlike wonder of enjoying a moment of beauty got pushed aside for hurrying on with life. I am learning to discover it again. 

For me, the simple act of savoring the moment is deeply connected to my own spiritual growth. When I am not present in my life, I am not present to God's presence in my life. 

Another name for savoring the moment is the spiritual practice of contemplation. When I first heard the phrase, I only pictured monks in monasteries sitting in gardens in silence. But I have since discovered that it is a spiritual practice that helps us enjoy God's presence in the midst of our day, especially for those of us who have busy lives far from the walls of a monastery! For me, contemplation is much like enjoying a sunset with someone you love. Sitting in silence together and enjoying its beauty. 

Contemplation kept my soul from freezing during the long winter of waiting for a baby to fill my empty arms. After years and years of praying for my heart's desire, I grew so tired of praying. And then I read, When the Soul Listen by Jan Johnson. For the first time in my life, I began to learn about how I could be quiet with God and simply enjoy His presence. I discovered that prayer could be so much more than talking. It is also listening. And it is even silence. Contemplation became a gift that showed me how to enjoy the silence and rest in God's loving presence.

 

That brief moment on the drive home this week was a reminder that I want to be more aware of God's presence in my life. And when I stop and savor the life he has given me, I am more able to enjoy His presence in it. 

Happy 2012!  Enjoy savoring it . . . one moment at a time!

Come Be in the Manger with Me

I love this picture. I love all that it represents. I love how my daughter is always ready to play.

Right now I am in a season when life feels messy. I often feel like I am barely above water. I am not sinking, but the margins in my life have been shrinking. And when that happens, I want to clean my garage.

I know exactly what I am doing. I am trying to find some place in my life where I can have some control and feel like everything is all in its place.

The thing about life is that it is messy. It is unpredictable. It is always changing. For the past seven years, I have been discovering that I can find serenity in the mess. I don't have to become crazy trying to control it. That just makes me more crazy. I can have a garage that is messy or neat and still be okay inside my own skin.

On this particular day I eventually focused on getting down the Christmas decorations and loading a few boxes for the thrift store. Much more realistic and less exhausting.

And I loved how my daughter couldn't wait to pick up a broom and help us clean the garage in the midst of playing dress up. She had no concept that cleaning is not meant to be fun. She was thrilled to just be with us and share in the activity of the day with her family.

My daughter does not compartmentalize work and play. She hasn't learned to do that. She loves to clean, cook, fold laundry, and unload the dishwasher. All with my help of course. But she loves to do it because we are together. She is not on a time schedule. She is in no rush. Most of the world lives more like she does with a strong sense of community in the midst of every day tasks. I long to live more like that.

My daughter loves to play dress up, not because she is trying to make herself more beautiful to others, but because she loves to dress up. She loves to use her imagination. She loves to be creative. And she loves to invite you into her play times.

Just this evening she came to me and said, "Mommy, I made a manger. Come be in the manger with me." 

I said yes.

Her simple invitation helped me to stop and ponder God's invitation to come be with Me in the manger -- the dirty, messy, manger of my every day life. He doesn't ask me to clean it up first. But he's waiting for me to invite him in. He's the only one who can truly clean up the mess anyway. And that's what he longs to do.

Come be in the manger with Me.